Hope · Poetry/Poems · The Daily Post

Steer it up….A compilation of prompts.

sea, waves, boat

Meandering through our days in pursuit of success
with ‘our hope’ the rudder that steers us along

Suddenly a rogue wave rocks our boat
and we lose our balance momentarily

We wonder if we should simply give in,
if we can ever set our rowing right

The fact is that with uncompromising faith in our focus
we can steer over, under and around the waves of life

although our movement may be staggered and messy
and success may look dim in our sight, it waits at the shore.


My target was to come up with a poem using 7 days prompt words from Daily post. I almost abandoned ship, but glad I stuck to it and only 30 minutes later, I like the message that I derived from the compilation.

Poetry/Poems · The Daily Post

I See Through You…

person, eyes, woman, face

The veil before my eyes are torn,
now, I truly see your colours in high definition.

The thing is that you never hid them,
‘cos you let them show.

The fault is all mine,
‘cos I spent ages repainting you,

with the hope that my dabs of love
would soften the horridness,

but no amount of glitter I place on you
can hide your ugly sides;

now, I withdraw my paintbox,
I’m done with you.

© Jacqueline

#whenitsdoneitsdone, #stopsugarcoating, #sometimeswehurtourselves, #iseethroughyou

The Daily Post – Torn

The Daily Post

Stuck on Needle…

Image result for images of a druggie


His life has become a disaster waiting to happen,

yet he just couldn’t stop himself,

he was not in a good place.

He hated the choices that he had made

getting hooked was far easier than getting off

the results have only been disastrous.




Love · Personal

His Big Screen…personal


I chuckle as I write this. I can’t think of anything else when the word screen shows up as today’s prompt.

Why would the word screen rouse a chuckle out of me?

Well it reminded me of my short, sizzling courtship with my husband nearly sixteen years ago and when we first met.

I remember the first thought that I had when I looked at his glasses.

They were as big as a Boeing 727 jet with wide screen and behind the wide screen were very beautiful eyes.

I wondered why he was wearing contact lens and wearing such big screen in the name of glasses at the same time.

It turned out that they are not contact, but my husband has hazel eyes.

For a fully black man, that is not common. It was mostly albinos that I knew that had light eyes in Africa, but as time went on, I got to learn of Africans with blue eyes.

I think it was those lovely hazel eyes of his that got me and yes, for the love of me, he got rid of the Boeing 727 and we settled for a lovely pair of Tom Ford frames.

The Daily Post prompt Screen.

The Daily Post

Churn it out….

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Inside the Bubble.”


I peer up at the doctor in his protective gears with anxious eyes, dreading the worst.

I can’t quite define the emotions in his eyes; the transparent plague mask seems to disassociate him from warmer expressions and he tut tutted yet again.

“Say aarrghh,” he requests. His vocals come out a bit wobbly through the thick surgical mask.

I oblige willingly. Sticking my tongue out as far as I can. Anything to get rid of the plaguing ailment will do.

A poke here, a prod there, several vials of blood and muted instructions to nurses who are equally garbed like they are all ready to take off on a jaunt to Mars; they all shake their heads.

“What?” I ask through hot, parched lips?

”Am I dying?” I brace myself for a heart-stopping, gut wrenching response.

”I am not ready to die now,” I start protesting to my audience who peered at me like a new specimen for study.

Then came the blissful words of the doctor in the mask.

“No ma’am .” “You are not dying, but you have a very contagious infection called bogusmogusoperansuswhatamacallit.” “This is a very viral blah, blah, and can be fatal if not well managed.” You will be fine in a month with the right amount of treatment, but I am sorry you will have to remain quarantined here in the hospital for the required month.”

I feel too elated to nag or to worry. I feel extreme gratitude to learn that it is just a passing virus. That I still have a chance to live.

“Can I have my writing materials?” I ask hesitantly. Willing him to say yes with the power of my mind

“Of course yes you can ma’am” he answers politely. I imagine that his lips move in a smile.

My gratitude is complete. A month of solitude. Time to churn out that book, my agile mind picks up its trail of thought for my novel.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha